A Dark New Age
by Andromeda797
Summary: What if Voldemort succeeded in the Battle of Hogwarts? Draco struggles to find his place in the new order three years later, but he's not the only survivor. Who else remains in this new dark age, and what has become of them? Main ship Dramione, obviously AU, work in progress.
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter and its characters are the property of J. K. Rowling and do not belong to me. I'm just borrowing.

Ash and dust filtered down from a dark sky, obscuring Draco's vision. His eyes stayed focussed on the light colouring of her hair, a pale blonde which contrasted against the destruction that surrounded them both. Other witches and wizards ran past him, battling one another on all sides. Spells ricocheted off brickwork, teeth ripped into flesh, but she did nothing - Luna simply stared back at him, her eyes pleading, her wand long gone. The noise around them was deafening, but it could not match the internal struggle raging inside his head. He tightened his grip on the willow wand, a poor replacement for his original Hawthorn. The wood burned against his skin, resistant to the spell that sat at the forefront of Draco's mind.

'Draco,' a voice growled, rasping against his ear. He didn't look back, unable to turn his gaze away from Luna's. She was trembling, her pink jeans ripped and stained with someone else's blood. Her jumper was ragged and slashed open at the shoulder. Amongst the robes and night, he was surprised she had remained inconspicuous for so long. 'Draco,' the voice urged a second time, 'do it!' Had she really come to battle dressed like that? He fought back the impulse to giggle, the sound catching in his throat. A cold, bony hand grabbed his own, forcing his wand up. His father stood almost touching him, breath hot on the back of Draco's neck. 'Do it!'

Still, Draco faltered.

Lucius let out a growl, releasing Draco's hand. He raised his own wand up and spoke without hesitation. 'Avada Kedavra!'

Like a limp rag-doll, she fell to the ground.

Lucius twisted, grabbing Draco by the neck with his free hand. 'Do your duty,' his father spat, grip tightening. 'Or I shall put you out for slaughter like these mudbloods.' Draco began to gasp for air, his hands fumbling to release his father's grip. Lucius let go, dropping his son to the floor. He turned his cloak and moved away, leaving his son in disgust.

Draco remained on the ground, desperately gulping for air. He turned his head to look for Luna. While the battle continued, she was still. White hair splayed around an emotionless face, her body twisted awkwardly where she had fallen. Time seemed to freeze as Draco rolled onto his front, pulling himself over the rubble and bodies to reach her. The screams and curses faded into a dull roar, overcome by the sound of his own breathing.

Her head was tilted to the right, exposing her left side to the night air. Her cheek was smudged with ash; he raised a hand to brush it away, but hesitated at the thought of touching her. The once vibrant eyes were now flat and dull, yet they still seemed focussed on him. Accusing. He began to tip backwards, suddenly desperate to get away from her. Luna's hand jumped forward, grabbing his ankle...

... the scream rang around the stone walls of his bedchamber. The realisation that he was at home, in his own bed, was only a small comfort. Satin bedsheets were twisted around his torso, skin slick with sweat. His heart throbbed against his rib-cage as he struggled to regain his breath.

It was only a nightmare, he tried to tell himself. A nightmare which haunted his every moment, recurring all the more frequently now his mother was trying to wean him from _Somnum Tenebris_. The sleeping aid was the only thing keeping him going, allowing him to maintain the appearance necessary for survival in this new age. _Somnum Tenebris_ promised sweet, unthinking darkness and had become an addiction in the three years following the massacre at Hogwarts. While his mother claimed to be concerned about his wellbeing, he knew his newfound catharsis of the potion was his father's work. Lucius Malfoy had attempted to quash any rumours of weakness in the aftermath of Voldermort's uprising, even going to murderous lengths to maintain his position, but the rot had begun to set in. The heir of Malfoy was weak. Some of the old crowd - Carrow, Rookwood, Yaxley - still allied themselves to the once-great Malfoy family, but the new wave of deatheaters felt no such loyalty.

Marcus Flint was one such newcomer - once Draco's teammate in Quidditch, he had roamed his village slaughtering mudbloods and muggles alike in the wake of Voldemort's rise. His cockiness had amused the Dark Lord and as a result, Flint had been awarded a townhouse in East Kensington within easy reach of Voldemort's seat of power. Other families had also been bestowed gifts, as befitting their role in the subjugation of muggles: Bulstrode, a country estate outside Bath; Zabini, several houses on Belgrave Square; Parkinson, a swathe of free muggle labour for their business. The Dark Lord had been generous in rewarding his followers. Excluding his Aunt Bellatrix, the Malfoy family had only been allowed to keep their ancestral homes, a slither of power Lucius clung desperately to. The message had been clear.

Turning on his side, Draco began to punch his pillow. Again and again his fists fell onto the bed. The satin split like skin, sending feathers spilling over the mattress. With a primal sob he ceased his attack and began to rub at his hands, attempting to scrub away phantom blood. Bile rose in the back of his throat as he smelt the bodies burning, saw the piles and piles of black robes...

'Master Malfoy?' A small voice squeaked, making Draco jump. A house-elf stood in the doorway of his room, the wrinkled face wary. 'May I be of assistance?' It did not meet his eyes.

'I was practicing an attack spell,' Draco quickly lied, trying to sound composed. 'The pillows got in the way.' The elf bowed its head, in no position to argue against such an obvious falsehood.

'Of course, Master Malfoy. I shall clean up the mess immediately.' The elf took a few steps into the room, arms raised outwards. Draco could feel the feathers stirring behind his back, creeping their way up the mattress and towards the ripped pillow. 'A bath has been drawn for you,' the elf continued, focussing on its work.

'Yes...' with a sigh, Draco pushed himself up from the bed and stumbled towards the en-suite.

He lay still in the tepid water, his eyes distant, as a pair of elves moved around him. In a pensive daze he was washed and groomed, his skin healed and exfoliated, hair trimmed and styled. The elves worked without conversation, practiced in Draco's morning ritual. Any blemish or indication of a disordered night was removed. Appearances had to be kept up, his mother insisted, even though the chance of a visitor had dwindled to almost nothing. Even his mother struggled to be alone in his presence. Crabbe and Goyle, once loyal friends, were some of the first to pull away from him. Their association was unfavourable, visits becoming more and more infrequent as the gossip spread. In the back meeting rooms of the Leaky Cauldron, in the offices of the new Ministry, people began to question everyone. _How many had Draco killed? Did the Malfoy boy prove his worth?_

Crabbe, despite the inability to cope with academic work, had moved onto higher things following the downfall of Hogwarts. He now held a role on Voldemort's personal inquisitorial squad, hunting down potential conspirators against the new regime or rebels that persisted from the old. At dinner parties, he liked to brag about single-handedly wiping out the Creevey family, and was a respected guest at official functions. Goyle, on the other hand, had been married to Milicent Bulstrode, cementing both families' positions of power. The wedding had been three months prior with permission of the Dark Lord. Draco had attended the wedding long enough to be seen by the right people but had retreated to the men's bathroom during the speeches. He couldn't stand listening to any more talk about the 'great battle.'

Draco had long begun to suspect that his own bachelorhood was coming to an end, observing the changed mood of his father. Lucius had been cold towards him following his inability to murder his classmates, but in the past few weeks this had shifted. Instead of scornful glances at the dinner table, Lucius' eyes had begun to rest on his son. His gaze was greedy and calculating, measuring the worth of the Malfoy heir.

His train of thought was disturbed as the bathwater began to drain away. Draco let himself be ushered from the bathroom, cool steam rising from his skin with an instant-drying spell. An outfit lay across the bed, laid out by his mother - a slim-fitting suit, black with silver details. He let the elves dress him as if he were a mannequin at Madam Malkin's. The silk shirt clung to his skin, while the blazer was heavy. The richness of the fabric seemed to exude money, while the suit gave him a silhouette sharp enough to draw blood. A silver death head pin was placed in the right lapel, a near-copy of the tattoo carved into his left forearm. He stared at the finished look in the mirror, an image of pureblood perfection, and felt repulsed.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry Potter and its characters are the property of J. K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing them.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat and her eyes shot open. Her left sleeve, where she had been using her arm as a pillow, was damp. She had been crying in her sleep again, yet she didn't know why. It had been over two years since her last dream, or at least one she could remember upon waking. Considering how frequently she woke up in tears, she was thankful she didn't remember them. Hermione used her other sleeve to dry her eyes. It was morning, but in the dungeons it was never obvious. Her routine had become so ingrained into her being that she simply knew - it was 5am and she needed to start the day.

She twisted on her pallet, moving a makeshift sack curtain aside. The dungeons were perpetually dark and musty, having no windows or candles to act as a source of light. The sole source of illumination arose from a large hearth, shared between the servant sleeping quarters and kitchen. The fire had burnt down to embers in the night, casting a dull orange glow on the sleeping house elves. There were almost twenty in the room, curled up on the dirt floor in small groups. Another twenty resided in an adjoining chamber, and she suspected even more lived in the eaves. The building was large and difficult to maintain, even with their magic. Hermione had attempted to learn their names, but elves often didn't last long in this residence. There were only two of the original group present when Hermione arrived that remained three years later. The others had been buried in woodland surrounding the property, a job that no elf thanked her for.

A strict hierarchy was in place amongst the servants, with Hermione placed last. Many of the house elves were wary of her - she had been a witch, once, before they took her wand. Now she no longer had a right to possess a wand, making her practically a muggle, but some of the elves instinctively feared her. The construction of her makeshift bed had caused tensions within the group, with one elf in particular thinking she was reaching above her station, but none of them reported it to their master. Fear kept them all in check.

Her back ached from the awkward sleeping position and she winced as she stretched out her muscles. Trying not to disturb her chamber mates, she tip-toed around the edge of the room and moved through a low archway into the kitchens. In a routine she had carried out every morning for over three years, she pulled a pail of water from an underground well and tipped it into a cracked basin. She then scrubbed her skin almost raw with the icy water, making herself presentable for upstairs. Her ragged nightdress was replaced by a simple black dress, her uniform. The hem fell mid-calf, with a simple ribbon-tie around the waist to pull the fabric in. It was designed to make her plain and conspicuous, the role of every servant, but the material was an expensive dyed wool. It reminded the other elves that she was not like them - she was a prized possession, a trophy from the battle, a reminder to others what happened to those who opposed the Dark Lord.

Voldemort derived a sort of perverse pleasure, parading Hermione as his personal servant. Her training for the role had been brutal, with him expecting his every wish and whim obeyed without words being spoken. After all, he could never lower himself to actually ask a mudblood for something. If she did not guess correctly, she would be punished. The remnants of those punishments scarred her entire body.

The novelty of owning a member of the 'golden trio' had worn off after the first year. Hermione was no longer flaunted and publicly humiliated at his parties. She worked long, gruelling days but at least she was largely ignored. Any attempts by visiting deatheaters to taunt her fell on deaf ears, although she had become accustomed to acting out the response they wanted - tears, gasps, sobs, she could do it all. Voldemort never tolerated her simpering, true or false, and so she quickly learned the art of looking pained without attracting his attention. Her punishments were few and far between now, and sometimes she thought that Voldemort had even grown attached to her. The previous month, Bellatrix had suggested they torture Hermione to relieve the boredom of a rainy afternoon, but Voldemort had disregarded the deatheater's wishes. Sometimes she thought that the Dark Lord had begun to appreciate the work Hermione did for him.

As she moved to leave the kitchen, her eyes fell on a second black dress, still hung up by the hearth. Its owner, like herself, had been a trophy from battle. Katie had grown too confident in her situation, a sentiment that had been fatal. Hermione hung her head in shame. There were no certainties here.

She began to climb up the stairs to her duties.

Every morning she moved along the lower floors, lighting fires and straightening the main rooms for the meetings that day. It was the most time-consuming task, requiring memorisation of several household members' schedules. The upper floors were less work, as they were normally occupied by the upper echelon of Voldemort's deatheaters on his specific invitation. The houseguests typically brought their own servants, removing rooms from Hermione's list.

That morning, her tasks felt more like a ritual as she tried to remove the memory of Katie from her mind. She had thought all traces of the Bell girl's existence had been blotted out when she was buried alongside the other servants. Katie Bell had been taken by the Dark Lord as a message to the Bell family, who had a modern habit of marrying muggles or half-bloods and thus diluting their bloodline. These unions had been dissolved under Voldemort's new rule, with the resulting offspring slaughtered except one. Katie was taken as a threat to the Bell family to obey, and as a warning to other families which threatened to revolt. The Dark Lord wanted to keep as many pure bloodlines alive as possible.

Hermione knelt down at the hearth of her first room and began to sweep the ashes out into her wooden pail, being careful not to mark the carpets. When Katie had arrived, she was not the girl Hermione had once known. Katie's spirits had been broken, replaced by an insatiable fanaticism for pleasing Voldemort. Wanting to remove any taint from their shared past, Katie had shunned Hermione, but she had gone too far in her attempts to gain favour. There had been several nights where Katie had not returned from her work to the kitchens. One such morning after, Hermione had to collect the body from Voldemort's chambers, and that was that.

Hermione repressed a sigh. In silence, she continued to move about the palace in her duties. In a way, she appreciated the monotony of the tasks, yet she knew she could not avoid the inevitable.

Once she had finished, she returned to the kitchens to wash her hands and collect Voldemort's breakfast. The kitchens were now a cacophony of noise, alive with activity. The breakfast was already laid out on a silver tray, waiting for her.

Voldemort resided on the third floor, overlooking the central courtyard. Hermione would awaken him at 8am every day with breakfast in bed, and would stand in the corner of the room in silence until he had finished. Voldemort would usually ignore her, being either deep in thought or in conversation with Bellatrix Lestrange, a common guest to his chambers. It was at those times that Hermione would realise that the Dark Lord wasn't a monster, but simply a man.

That morning, he did not accept his meal in silence. 'We're heading out this evening,' he said, as if speaking to an empty room. He unfolded a black cloth napkin slowly, embroidered in gold with the monogram LV. 'We're attending a party at Malfoy Manor.' Hermione bowed her head in acknowledgment.

'I will make the arrangements, Dark Lord.' She replied meekly.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry Potter and its characters belong to J. K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing them.

'Ah, there you are, Draco.' His mother's voice was tentative. Draco's eyes shifted away from his own image in the mirror to that of Narcissa's. She stood in the doorway, dressed in similar finery. He turned away from the glass to stare at her outfit, more fitting for a banquet than breakfast.

Narcissa's hair was pulled up into a bun at the crown of her head, with dark ringlets falling to her shoulders. The curls touched velvet in the form of a regal emerald gown, complete with gold embroidery along the bodice. Her outfit was finished by a forced smile and eyes that refused to meet his. His mother was uncomfortable being in his presence and hesitated at the threshold, lacking the confidence to enter her son's room.

'Aren't you visiting Aunt Bellatrix today?' He asked, his tone cool.

'No.' Her forced smile began to falter.

'Are we going out?' He held up the sleeve of his blazer to her, curious about their combined formality.

'No...' the corners of her mouth moved into a definite frown, her lips pursed as if she wanted to say something more. 'The family has a visitor,' she offered, after a long pause. Her fingers rubbed against one another uncertainly as she clasped her hands, and it was Draco's turn to frown.

'Who is it? Crabbe?' Narcissa's eyes suddenly shot up to meet his, the message behind her gaze unreadable. Draco took a step forwards to her.

'You'll see soon enough,' she quickly replied, taking a step backwards into the hall. 'Your father will send for you after he's discussed a few things. Please, when you come down, be on your best behaviour.' Frustrated by her lack of honesty, Draco scowled.

'Aren't I always?'

'Draco,' Narcissa pleaded, making him feel guilty. 'You _must_ act like a Malfoy. We're being scrutinised.'

'Mother...' She had already turned her back on him, striding out of sight along the hallway. Draco sighed and glanced back at the mirror, inspecting himself once more. Despite the efforts which had been put into his outfit or the care taken over his grooming, he felt like a child playing dress-up. With a sigh, he moved to sit on the end of his bed, leaning against a bedpost. His mother had been cryptic and clearly worried, leaving him to stew in his own feelings of inadequacy while he waited to be summoned. He wondered what was happening downstairs.

'Hello, Draco.' A female voice called. He jumped, whacking his shoulder into the wooden post. His hand moved up to massage the bruised spot, eyes watching the newcomer with surprise. He hadn't seen her since school, and boy, had she grown up a lot since then. Pansy showed no reluctance in entering his chambers; she sauntered into the room with confidence, inspecting his belongings idly. 'Well, this is cosy.' She stopped at the vanity opposite his bed and picked up a silvered potion bottle. Removing the stopper, she paused to take a sniff, her eyes closing briefly as she revelled in the scent. She put the bottle back down in approval then twisted, leaning back against the wood to face him, one leg crossed over the other. The movement drew his eyes down, to a pair of dark, pointy boots which laced up her calf. His eyes continued to roam upwards, taking in the sultry black dress that seemed to cling in all the right places. Fabric cowled at her waist, with a V-neck which dropped precariously close to her navel. A ruby glimmered at her throat, held in place by a thick velvet ribbon. Pansy's black hair was set in wide curls which framed her face, contrasting against a pair of crimson lips.

She had grown up a lot, inspiring feelings in Malfoy's body that set his teeth on edge. Money, position and power had certainly been good to the Parkinson family.

As if reading his mind, the lips moved upwards into a seductive smile. Draco quickly pulled his eyes upwards, but she had seen his lingering gaze.

'Pansy...' he stumbled for words. 'Did my father send you up here?' She shook her head slowly.

'No. In fact, I'm sure both of our fathers would be scandalised at the thought.' She pushed herself forward from the desk. 'I let myself upstairs.'

'How...' he gulped, 'how did you know where my room was?' The collar of his shirt began to feel tight against his throat as his pulse began to creep up.

'Oh,' she smiled, 'I remembered from before.' Draco's mind jumped back to the juvenile playdates, long before they started school. Pansy had been a rare visitor as a child, but often enough that they knew one another by name on their first day at Hogwarts. His eyes dipped down to her torso. She had looked quite different back then. Pansy's mother had sometimes joked about a potential union between the two which he had found repulsive, but that was when he was seven... she didn't seem so repulsive now. Draco frowned suddenly, processing her words.

'Your father is here?' Pansy rolled her eyes and pouted.

'Him and the rest of them.' It was a topic of conversation she was not interested in continuing. Her right hand moved along the waistline of her dress and her fingers began to play with the lowest point of the cowl, exposing more skin, as she took steps towards him. Draco leant back, instinctively trying to keep a proprietary distance. Misjudging, he fell back against the satin bedspread. Pansy let out a small giggle and used her own legs to wedge his apart, moving between them.

'Pansy, if they catch you up here...' he stammered, beginning to sweat. She grinned and knelt forwards, climbing on top of him.

'It'll just push Daddy into action,' she whispered, her face over his. A curl brushed against his cheek, his heart racing. Cool lips touched his neck before moving upwards, trailing along his jawline to meet his own mouth. He gave into the kiss momentarily, losing himself, before realising the consequences of their actions. He raised his hands to push her away. She fell to the side, giving him the opportunity to climb free from the bed and her grasp. Pansy pushed herself up into a sitting position, giving him a sultry pout. Her legs crossed at the knee, revealing a split in the dress which exposed skin up to mid-thigh.

'What are you doing?' Draco demanded, running a hand over his hair to slick it down.

'I'm here to claim my prince,' she replied, as if it were obvious. Draco stared at her in confusion and she rolled her eyes, shifting her focus onto her fingernails. They were painted a deep crimson, to match her lipstick. 'Daddy was against it at first, when Lucius Malfoy came asking, but he didn't know I was listening at the door.' The pout turned to a smile, exposing teeth in a way that made Draco feel vulnerable. 'I told him I'd have you or no-one, and Daddy knows what happens when he annoys me.' She shrugged. 'Still, Daddy knows how much of a prize I am, so your father won't get me easily.'

'What are you talking about?' Draco found his eyes drifting down towards her lips involuntarily. He quickly wiped his own mouth with the sleeve of his blazer, hoping to remove any incriminating evidence. 'What did my father want from you?'

'Why,' Pansy pushed a curl behind her ear, meeting his gaze. 'To be his daughter-in-law.' She pushed herself from the bed and began to stalk towards him, eyes hungry. 'I've always had a thing for platinum blondes,' she said licking her lips. Draco quickly dodged her advances, putting himself between her and the door. He began to edge backwards, which seemed to excite her further. 'Are you going to make me beg, Draco?'

'Pansy...' he moved his hands up defensively. 'If they're still working on a betrothal downstairs then it's not final yet... you don't want to sully your reputation...'

'It's a done deal,' she replied confidently. 'Daddy is just dragging it out to make your father squirm.'

Pansy suddenly stopped, changing tact. One hand stroked down the bodice of her dress to the skirt and she slowly began to lift the fabric. Draco froze in the doorway, eyes locked onto her. 'Come on, Malfoy...' she crooned, biting her lip. The hem lifted higher, dancing above her knees. 'I remember the way you used to treat me at Hogwarts.' The edging of lacy underwear was exposed. 'You didn't want me then,' she continued, teasing him. 'You want me now, don't you?'

Draco stumbled out of the room, panicked.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry Potter and it's characters belong to J. K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing them.

Draco's muscles ached from the cramped conditions in the carriage, the tension in his upper body almost unbearable as he waited for Pansy and her father to climb out. He had insisted that Pansy go before him, being wary to turn his back on his future bride.

Initially, the suggestion that Perneus Parkinson chaperone them on the journey to the Malfoy's London residence had been reassuring, but Perneus had quickly nodded off as they passed over Berkshire. Even Draco had found himself drifting off, the carriage rocking him into gentle unconsciousness. That was, until cold fingers began to crawl up his inner thigh, jolting him awake. His arm had shot out instinctively to slap at the hand, with an almighty smack that threatened to awaken the Parkinson patriarch, but Perneus had slept on. Pansy had licked her lips with glee, her hand returned to her own lap. She had shot him a look laced with so much lust it seemed like a threat. Draco had had to look away, rubbing at his right forearm and staring deliberately out the carriage window onto Britain below.

Pansy moved slowly and Draco noticed how she was particular in lifting her dress up just enough to be indecent as she stepped down to the gravel below, before moving to stand with her father. Draco followed, wincing slightly as his eyes adjusted to the light. The transition from the darkness of the carriage to an overcast afternoon had been jarring. Perneus was already in deep discussion with Lucius, moving off up a set of stairs into a Georgian townhouse. Pansy was tempted to linger outside with Draco, but a quick gesture from Narcissa for accompaniment prevented her. Draco avoided looking at either of them, feigning an interest in the harness fastenings on their carriage's thestrals.

Thestrals had become the fashionable way to travel, being inevitably associated with the Dark Lord's reign. The creatures were visible only to those who had witnessed death firsthand, a desirable trait in all deatheaters. Four thestrals had been sufficient for their short journey, with two pulling each carriage. With a sigh, Draco reached out to stroke the neck of the closest thestral, a slender beast he had nicknamed Bones. The thestral twisted, recognising a friend, and pushed its nose against his chest. Draco smiled genuinely, continuing to run his hands across the bony flesh.

Reluctantly, his mind drifted back to the morning's events. Not long after escaping Pansy's advances, he had found himself summoned to his father's study. The atmosphere in the room had been tense, with several members of the Parkinson family, including Perneus, glaring at him. His father, on the other hand, was a changed man. Lucius seemed comfortable in his skin, a new confidence to his movements now that the Malfoy name would be validated in society. Narcissa was less sure, standing by her husband's side as her future daughter-in-law was brought into the room. The announcement of their impending marriage was made by Perneus. Pansy had acted demure and almost shy at a faux-introduction to her fiancée, blushing as Draco carried out the formalities of bowing and taking her hand. Draco was not surprised when his father insisted the union be bound in magic. Likewise, Pansy had no hesitation in gripping Draco's forearm, her fingers digging into his flesh. He had glanced at his father, wanting to say something but found himself speechless. Lucius was finally watching him with pride, as if accepting his son for a true Malfoy. Ashamed, Draco's eyes fell down to his right hand, which gently held Pansy's wrist. The unbreakable oath was spoken and his fate was set in stone.

Draco glanced down at his hand, which was now running along Bones' neck. He could still feel the connection to Pansy, yet his skin looked no different than before. It felt almost like invisible chains connected the pair and he hoped the feeling would disappear once the oath was fulfilled.

The thestrals harnessed to his parents' carriage became restless, pawing at the gravel. Draco looked up and spotted the source of their excitement; a plain-looking servant girl had emerged from a side door to take them to the stables. She paused, mildly surprised to see him outside, then quickly averted her gaze to the ground to continue her duties. Draco's heart ached and he found himself deliberately turning away, remembering why he had avoided their Covent Garden home. It was the fashion in London to possess muggle servants in addition to house-elves, which admittedly did not bother Draco insomuch as how she reminded him of the past. The girl had brown, slightly frizzy hair which fell to her shoulders, with a no-nonsense expression that made his breath catch. She reminded him what had been lost from that time of innocence, when he was still at school. When the worst thing he had done was to bully the younger students and occasionally face-off with Potter... before he had blood on his hands.

The girl was adept at her job and had already released the first pair, leading them around the house by their reins to a small stable block. Eager to avoid the house, Draco used his wand to release Bones and followed after her. She glanced back at him, perplexed. He smiled weakly, trying to wordlessly reassure her. In silence, the pair led the thestrals through a large doorway and into the stables. She tied up her creatures quickly and attached feeding bags to their harnesses, rubbing them down as they began to eat. Draco offered Bones an apple but the creature huffed, stretching out its wings. It began to nudge Draco's shoulder repeatedly, rubbing its nose against the fabric of his jacket.

'Alright, alright,' Draco replied in amusement, pushing the creature away. He reached for a brush and began to rub down the thestral, massaging away the tension from the flight. During the task, he found his eyes drifting back to the servant girl, catching glimpses of her from behind. She was familiar enough that he might be able to pretend, for a while, that things hadn't changed so much. He found himself slowing, watching her work. Suddenly, the girl looked up, her eyes drawn back to the house. Draco followed her line of vision to see a curious Pansy emerging into the garden. She seemed intent on the stables, her eyes casting around as she searched for her fiancée.

With a gulp, Draco downed his tools and turned, heading for the back-entrance of the stables. The door required a lot of force to open, its hinges rusted. He managed to free it enough to slip out into a secluded area, facing the entrance to a small walled garden that adjoined their own. He had snuck in and played there as a child, but the area was now overgrown and abandoned. Hoping to avoid Pansy, he began to tear at the ivy which now covered the wall, looking for the gap in the stones that could provide his escape.

Draco heard Pansy's voice behind him in the stables, questioning the servant girl about his whereabouts. His search became more frantic.

The gap was smaller than he remembered, but he had found it. He ducked his head to move under the narrow archway, letting the ivy fall back into place behind him to hide the entrance. The walled garden was in full bloom, a sea of tulips, narcissi and roses. Dominating the space was a large oak tree, a place that Draco had often hid in following family arguments. Despite the familiarity, the garden did not seem welcoming of his return. Draco's skin crawled, with the distinct feeling he was being watched pushing him back towards the entrance of the garden.

'Draco,' a whisper carried on the breeze, tousling at his hair. The voice was haunting in its familiarity, yet he couldn't place it. He glanced around the garden, looking for its owner, but could see no-one. The garden felt claustrophobic, the flowers suddenly menacing in their beauty and he fought the urge to flee.

A tinkling laugh made him jump. It sounded as if the tree were laughing at him - but that was ridiculous. Trees didn't laugh.

Suspecting a trick, he took a step forward, peering up through the foliage. A scrawny, ginger tabby sat proud on one of the lower branches, looking down at him. It had seen better days; a chunk had been torn from its right ear, while its left eye was missing entirely, replaced by an ugly, red scar. Frowning, Draco held out his hands and tried to shoo the cat away.

'Go on, shoo,' he prompted. The cat continued to stare at him, looking bemused. 'Go on, get lost.' It didn't move an inch.

Annoyed, Draco reached into his blazer pocket to retrieve his wand. He pointed it towards the tree but was interrupted.

'Draco,' Pansy crooned from behind him, 'there you are!'

The cat had gone.


	5. Chapter 5

The Harry Potter characters belong to J. K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing them.

'Pansy,' Draco acknowledged reluctantly, quickly returning his wand to his pocket. She raised her eyebrows enquiringly.

'Did I surprise you?'

'Of course not.'

'I hope you weren't trying to hide from me,' the seductive voice turned menacing, a threat behind the sweet smile. 'What would people say?' She folded her arms. 'I'm sure your father, in particular, wouldn't be happy to hear about it.'

'No, of course.' Draco's expression turned cool, assessing Pansy afresh. At Hogwarts, she had been uncertain of herself, timid around her friends yet unflinchingly cruel when she sensed weakness. Draco wondered whether she sensed it now, as she hinted at the lengths she would be willing to go to marry him. 'I haven't been here in a while,' he continued, lying effortlessly. He pushed his hands into his pockets and began to stroll away from the secret garden, back towards the house. Pansy followed alongside, a pleased expression on her face. 'I just wanted to see whether anything had changed since the last time.'

The Malfoy London residence loomed before the couple, the whitewashed exterior cold and blank. Draco suppressed a shiver.

'Everything will change soon,' Pansy said with a contented sigh, locking her arm through his. She pulled herself closer, leaning against his shoulder. Her hair brushed against his throat, enveloping him with the scent of lilies. This time, her proximity had no effect - he felt no inadvertent lust or desire towards her, regardless of her looks. She had revealed herself completely.

The sky began to darken around them as the city fell into dusk. Slowly, lights began to appear in the trees. Glass jars and cages had been strung up on the lower-lying branches, populated with several species of faerie. Viridi mountain faeries cast a pale green glow onto the lawn below, with the odd argenti faerie providing a silver light with magical properties. He saw the light's effect on Pansy almost immediately - she pulled from him, smiling ecstatically, and began to twirl under the trees. The faeries were common decoration at parties, creating an atmosphere of wild abandon or ecstasy. Draco made sure to avoid the light, sticking to the shadows as he moved up towards the house.

He came to a halt at the patio, looking in through a pair of French doors into the house. The large dining room had been clad in the house colours, with prominent Malfoy and Parkinson crests suspended from the central chandelier. Silvery streamers hung over the walls and rippled in the breeze, producing an unnerving effect. House-elves were busy at work, setting out tables around a central dance-floor and lighting a variety of candles to remove the gloom.

Pansy let out a sound of contented glee, crashing into Malfoy. She clung to his arm to prevent herself from falling backwards, then began to snuggle into his shoulder. She followed his line of vision into the room. 'Tonight is going to be perfect,' she said, pressing a kiss against his neck. Her lips began to trail upwards. Draco pushed her away gently.

'Pansy, my dearest,' he lifted her hand to his lips in placation. The term of endearment fell flat, but Pansy heard what she wanted to hear. 'I have to get changed. This _thing_ ,' he gestured to his new suit, 'is not worthy of tonight or you.'

Draco was surprised to see Pansy almost swoon, and wondered whether the faerie light was still affecting her brain.

'Oh yes,' she glanced down at her dress in disgust. 'I have such a beautiful gown for tonight! You will be speechless in front of your future bride,' she teased.

'I'm speechless already.' He replied, with a hint of sarcasm.

* * *

There was a swift knock at the door. Draco didn't pull himself up from his bed, where he had spent the last hour staring at the cracks in the ceiling. Any hope he had of waking up from this nightmare dissipated with each hour. His bedroom was situated at the front of the house, overlooking the drive. Guests had been arriving in droves for the past twenty minutes, the gaiety and laughter rising up to his window. He wished them all to hell, knowing that he had no choice but to go ahead with the marriage. Thoughts whirred around his brain as he tried to think of any possible excuse to get out of the union, but it was hopeless. His family needed him to do this, and besides, an unbreakable oath had already been said. To not marry Pansy would mean death. Was that really a better option?

The knock came again. Draco sighed.

'Who is it?' He shouted, unmoving. The door quickly opened, revealing his mother.

'Draco?' She asked, surprised. He sat up from the bed quickly and tried to smooth the wrinkles from his jacket. She closed the door behind her and glanced down at her hands. 'I had hoped to give this to you under more pleasant circumstances...' she frowned, then held out a small velvet box. Draco stood up and walked over to retrieve it.

'What...' he opened the box, revealing an ornate engagement ring. An emerald encrusted serpent twirled around a small skull, engraved with the letter M. He had seen the ring before. 'Grandmother's ring?'

In a display of motherly affection, Narcissa's hands moved up to close the box and rest on Draco's fingers. 'It has been passed down the family for generations. It is only right that you have it now.'

The ring seemed heavy in his hand, laden with the responsibility of carrying on the family bloodline. Draco suddenly blanched at the realisation. Narcissa seemed to sense the change. 'You know, your father and I had an arranged marriage,' her fingers brushed over the back of his hand. 'We were both quite against it at the start, but with time...' she sighed. 'Will you be happy, Draco?'

His eyes moved up to meet hers. His mother's expression was complicated, a mixture of concern and pride. While she seemed concerned with his personal happiness, she was as dependent on this marriage as his father to raise the Malfoy name. Was she willing to put the family reputation before him? His heart hardened as he contemplated the answer.

'You don't need to worry about me,' he replied, trying to force a smile. She kissed his forehead, seeming relieved.

'Won't you come down now? Your friends are already here.'

 **Author's Note:** Shameless plug, but I have a completed fanfic about Narcissa and Lucius' arranged marriage if you're bored in-between chapter submissions here! Check out _The Reluctant Engagement_.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry Potter and its characters are the property of J. K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing them.

Draco followed his mother down the staircase and into the party, his heart beating faster as the music grew louder. The ballroom was almost at full capacity, with a number of couples twirling around the dancefloor to the accompaniment of a goblin band. A combination of string instruments created the dance, with a pair of wizened viola players leading the melody. In the corner, a dark-haired goblin acted as antagonist, teasing their light notes with an increasingly frenetic bass. The couples twirled faster in response, the skirts of the women flaring out in wider circles. Clashes of damask, velvet and satin heralded in the crescendo of Tchaikovsky's ballet, hailing the meeting of Odette and Siegfried.

Narcissa paused at the base of the stairs, equally entranced by the scene. The men lifted their partners up into the air as Odette returned to her swan form, then lowered them slowly into a dip at the waist as the music began to fade. Draco glanced at his mother. 'Really? Swan Lake?'

'It was always your favourite as a child,' she replied, the corners of her mouth moving up into a small smile.

The goblins started up a new tune, more sorrowful. Some of the couples left the floor, while others continued at a more sombre pace. Now that the dance had slowed, Draco was able to identify some of the guests. Most were his father's friends, men he had considered distant uncles as a child. MacNair and Yaxley had remained on the dancefloor with their partners, the slower pace more fitting with their age. It was easy to identify the abundance of Parkinson's, with a common broad jawline that matched Pansy's. Some of the younger Parkinson clan were on the dancefloor, but many of the older members stood in distinct groups at the edges, looking serious and muttering between themselves. Draco was surprised to spot Marcus Flint in one corner, leaning against the wall in a blasé fashion as he chatted up Pansy's cousin. There were a few other deatheaters that Draco had not seen before but assumed were part of the newest intake. While it was not unexpected that his father had extended invitations to the deatheaters that had previously scorned the Malfoy family as traitors, it was surprising that some had accepted.

Marcus' eyes rose from his conquest to meet Draco's, shooting him an unfriendly look. Draco tried to look unaffected and forced his eyes away.

With the musical spell broken, Narcissa moved off into the crowd to find her husband, leaving Draco alone on the stairs. Still painfully aware of Marcus' gaze and the disapproving looks from various Parkinson patriarchs, he rapidly searched the crowd for a familiar face. He breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted his old friend, Goyle, sat alone at one of the tables. With a newfound confidence, he moved through the throngs of people. A few guests offered their congratulations in passing, which he acknowledged with a forced smile.

Goyle looked up from his firewhiskey as Draco sat down. 'Ah, the man of the hour,' he announced, his speech slurred. Draco frowned at his friend, surprised at finding him drunk so early in the evening. 'Here's to you,' Goyle raised the glass haphazardly, spilling half of the drink over his own dress robes. Draco grimaced.

'It's been a long time. Is Crabbe not with you?' Goyle downed the whiskey with a single gulp and slammed the glass against the table, attracting the attention of those nearby. He clicked his fingers, swaying slightly in his seat. A house-elf came forward immediately to replenish the drink.

'He couldn't be here, mate. Had to work. Always working.' Goyle choked suddenly, his face a peculiar shade of green as if he were going to throw up, but he forced the bile back down. He slammed his hand against the table, causing a few members of the Parkinson family to glare at him in disgust. 'He's barely been out of the office. It's those vandals, leaving that anti-... anti-... you know,' he waved his hands, unable to find the word. 'That graffiti everywhere. It's making him nervous. Crabbe needs to fix it or...' Goyle suddenly rolled his eyes back into his skull, pulling a finger across his neck for emphasis.

'I didn't realise there were still people rebelling,' Draco responded, intrigued. There had been a few attempted muggle uprisings in the wake of the Dark Lord's ascent to power, but all had been quashed. Goyle leaned forward conspiratorially.

'He thinks there's a wizard involved,' he suddenly leant back in his seat, barking out a laugh. Draco smiled alongside him. The idea was preposterous - after all, the only wizards left were purebloods. Even those in the new regime who might harbour certain tolerant sentiments towards muggles and mudbloods knew that to act on them would result in their own death, and that of their families. Nobody would be so foolish.

'It's just a few posters,' Crabbe began to sip his new drink, 'here and...' his words trailed off as his eyes followed a figure on the opposite side of the room. He let out a low whistle. 'Whew, aren't you a lucky boy. She's scrubbed up quite well.'

Draco followed his gaze and spotted Pansy talking to one of her cousins across the dancefloor. Her gown was stunning, constructed from a clingy silver fabric that appeared to melt over her curves. The low-back revealed her dark mark, the deathhead tattoo carved into her skin at the base of her neck.

'How is Milicent?' Draco asked, quickly averting his gaze and attempting to change the topic of conversation. Goyle barked a laugh, once again attracting the glares of surrounding party-goers.

'The witch...' Goyle's hands suddenly reached out, grasping at Draco's lapel. 'She'll be the death of me, I swear. Always bloody moaning and she never lets me near her, it's always _not now_ ,' he began speaking in a higher pitch, crudely imitating his wife, 'or _you don't deserve to breathe in my presence_ or _get your hands off me_...' what Draco thought was Pansy's grandmother began to tut in a disapproving manner. Draco grimaced, removing Goyle's hand.

'I think we should go outside. You need to sober up a bit.'

Goyle merely grunted but let himself be led across the dancefloor and towards the back garden. The firewhiskey remained in his left hand, sloshing onto the floor with each step.

The pair slipped through the French doors and emerged into the fresh night air. Draco closed the doors behind them, deadening the sound of the party to a dull murmur. Before Draco could stop his friend, Goyle stumbled forwards onto the lawn and straight into the Argenti glow. He grimaced as Goyle let out a roar, flinging his glass into the sky. Goyle's hands ripped at the neck of his dressrobes, splitting the shirt. Draco watched as his friend disappeared into the darkness, driven temporarily mad by the faerie exposure. He sighed. It had not been the reunion he had wished for - he had hoped positive news from Goyle's arranged marriage to Milicent Bulstrode would have allayed the fears he had for his own future.

The French door opened behind him, the sound of Wagner jolting him from his thoughts. He glanced back to see his father, a foreboding shadow against the revelry. 'It's time, Draco. Do not disappoint me.'

Draco followed his father back into the ballroom as the piece finished, leaving only the sound of excited conversation. Slowly this faded into whispers and then expectant silence. Draco fought the urge to run.

The fire in the hearth flared up, flames rising to lick at the mantel. A figure clad in black strode out from within the fire, confidently moving into the centre of the dancefloor. The crowd fell to their knees in unison, signalling their obeisance. Voldemort raised his hands with a smile. 'Friends, I do not mean to ruin your... entertainments.' His gaze moved, taking in the faces around the room. The fire continued to burn intensely, casting an eerie glow around his silhouette. 'I have come to give my blessing on the union of two noble bloodlines.' He outstretched his arms as if reaching out towards the crowds on either side of him. 'Parkinson.'

Pansy emerged from the left, striding forward confidently to place her hand in Voldemort's. The Dark Lord's gaze turned towards Draco. 'Malfoy.'

Draco hesitated, forcing his father to prod him sharply in the back to urge him forwards. He moved more tentatively towards the Dark Lord, all the while trying to look calm and composed. Sweat began to trickle down the back of his collar. He placed his hand in Voldemort's - the skin was clammy to the touch, making Draco inwardly recoil. He fought to suppress his repulsion, trying to appear comfortable.

'May this couple go on to be loyal servants,' Voldemort continued, 'remaining faithful to one another and their Lord, at pain of death.' He brought their hands together, placing Draco's hand over Pansy's. The crowd began to clap. Voldemort moved away into the crowd to speak to others and the music resumed.

Draco found himself opposite his fiancée, a position he had hoped to avoid all evening. She smiled, slightly tipsy from the alcohol. 'Shall we dance?'

'Ah, not yet,' he mumbled, looking around the room for an excuse to escape. Her face contorted into an expression of annoyance, her fingernails digging into his skin. 'Call of nature,' he quickly lied. 'I'll be back in two shakes of a witch's broom.'

'They expect us to dance,' she replied through gritted teeth, her grip tightening.

'Yes, but they don't expect me to relieve myself during the waltz,' he pulled his hand free from hers. 'I'll come back straight away and we'll dance all night afterwards, OK?'

She pouted, her eyes narrowed, but let him go.

He pushed his way through the crowd, feigning a path towards the stairs. Once he was sufficiently shielded from her gaze he turned, slipping outside onto the patio. This time he used an _Alohamora_ charm to lock the door behind him, hoping to finally catch a few moments alone. He fell back against the glass of the door, gasping for air as reality hit him. He slid down into a sitting position.

The Dark Lord was here. He had blessed the betrothal. He had made it clear that he would be keeping a firm gaze on the couple to ensure they carried out their duties...

Draco began to hyperventilate, realising that there was no alternative to the marriage.

'Please, don't!' A girl shrieked in the darkness.

Draco glanced up towards the sound, towards the stables. A lamp hung in the window, casting the shadows of several people against the interior. The sound of male laughter followed, threatening and ominous. 'Please!' The girl continued, through sobs. He heard the smack of flesh against bone. With an unexpected surge of courage, he pushed himself up and ran towards the stable block.

He skidded to a halt in the doorway, taking in the scene. A girl in a servant uniform lay crumpled on the stone floor, bits of straw caught in thick, wavy hair that hung over her face. She was motionless except for her breathing. Marcus Flint and two of his cronies stood over the girl, with Marcus' wand lowered towards her. Draco's blood began to boil as he realised what had happened.

'What are you doing?' Draco demanded. Marcus smirked, glancing at his friends.

'Just livening this party up. If I'd known it was going to be so dull, I would have stayed at home,' he raised his eyebrows as if in judgement. 'But still, what did I expect from a party where the Malfoys are the host?'

The two cronies laughed. Draco reached into his blazer to remove his wand. The laugher cut out, replaced by tense silence.

'You think it's acceptable to come onto my property and harass my servants?' Draco asked, his hand shaking with rage.

'Gees, cool down Malfoy.' Marcus rolled his eyes, putting his own wand away. He folded his arms, looking bored. 'How do you think the Dark Lord will take to you attacking your guests in defence of a _muggle_?' He spat the last word, his expression disgusted. Draco gripped his wand put tried not to rise to the bait.

'You know the property laws,' he growled. 'She belongs to me.'

'Hmm,' Marcus replied, bemused. 'Some might think you had a soft spot for the scum. I wonder if Pansy knows of his predilections,' he glanced at his cronies once more and they responded with wide grins.

'Get off my property, Flint.' Draco raised his wand threateningly, the tip glowing a fierce white.

Marcus held up his hands in mock surrender, chuckling to himself. 'We were just leaving anyway...'

Draco turned to watch them leave, his body still tense.

'I told you he was a _sympathiser_ ,' Marcus said to his companions as they left, disappearing into the darkness. A loud crack broke the silence of the night as the three apparated away.

Draco quickly put his wand away and knelt down towards the girl, his hands reaching forward to help her up. She recoiled from his grasp, pushing herself up.

'I don't need your help,' she growled, her back to him. The voice made him falter, bringing a surge of memories and emotions that he thought were long buried. It couldn't be...

The girl turned to face him. Although the left side of her face was swollen from one of Marcus' curses, she was still recognisable.

Hermione glared at him.

He struggled for words, feeling winded. She was dead. They were all dead. His father had said they were all dead...

The lamp blew out, plunging the stables into darkness. Something hard slammed into the back of Draco's head, knocking him forward onto the stone floor and into unconsciousness.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry Potter and its characters are the property of J. K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing them.

The cat yawned and stretched out its front paws, pushing them down into the gravel of the driveway. It had sat in front of the house in silence since dawn, mirroring the cold Georgian façade. There had been few visitors since then, and they had mostly been tradesmen. The cat could recognise almost all of them on sight, so acquainted was it with the local populace of Covent Garden, but it was not interested in them. It waited for an altogether different kind of guest.

The cat was not local to the area - it had no distinct home or family. Instead, the whole of London was its playground. It roamed the streets and sewers of the city with a quiet confidence, sticking to the shadows to avoid unwanted attention. Rarely would you see the cat unless it had decided to let its presence be known, and once you had, its visage would haunt you. The ginger fur was sleek and clean, as if it were a beloved housepet, yet the face was irreversibly deformed. In place of its right eye was a ragged pink scar, as if the organ had been ripped from the creature's skull. The cat had adapted well to the partial loss of sight, yet you could see its ears twitch more frequently than was comfortable to observe. Some might even wonder whether it listened to conversations, rather than simply compensating for the missing eye.

In the late afternoon, at last, the carriages pulled up to the house. The cat moved to the side, avoiding the Thestrals as they galloped towards the front steps. It watched as men and women in their finery emerged. With interest, the cat watched the exchange - the older members of the group moved up into the house, while the young girl hesitated on the steps. As the young man with pale hair led his thestral to the stables, the cat followed. It lingered in the doorway, waiting expectantly, its body tensed as if it sensed prey.

A noise from the house caused both of the humans to look up. The cat acted instinctively to hide and slinked to the back of the stables, retreating once more to the shadows. The young girl emerged into the garden. The cat was intrigued to find itself no longer alone behind the stables, as the pale boy emerged from a back door. It was easy for it to climb the wall and watch as he frantically searched among the vines of ivy. Realising that he sought refuge in the walled garden, the cat leapt down among the flowers and up into the branches of an old tree.

Once again it waited, muscles tensed in preparation to pounce. The young man had no idea he was falling into its trap.

The man emerged into the garden and looked... odd. The cat could not quite follow the emotions on his face. Yet it knew its time was running out.

'Draco,' the cat whispered, the sound unsettling to the ear. It was a skill few other cats possessed.

Draco looked around in horror, his eyes wide and panicked.

'Draco,' the cat repeated, amusing itself. It let out a light laugh at his expression.

Draco moved forward, his eyes looking upwards. The cat let itself be seen, unashamed. It smirked to itself as the man tried to shoo it away. Draco grew impatient and removed his wand. The cat knew that it was now the moment to strike...

Draco was interrupted as the young girl let herself into the garden. The cat recoiled, its plan ruined. It leapt down from the back of the tree and scurried under the bushes, hiding itself from view.

Another opportune moment would come, it told itself. Good things come to those who wait.


End file.
